


Have Some Love

by gloss



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Banter, Breathplay, Dirty Talk, Hand Jobs, M/M, Possible exhibitionism, double-crosses as foreplay, human disasters and the smooth operators who love them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 07:45:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10692726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: Han doesn't get away fast enough; Lando gets his revenge.





	Have Some Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Merfilly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merfilly/gifts).



> title from the Childish Gambino [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mMF6hsQNrBw)
> 
> thanks to L. for help and beta.

After the door clatters shut and the fission-locks hiss into place, Han bangs on the surface until his fists ache. Then he shouts for a while, and paces. When that gets boring and tiring, he switches to sitting on the single bench. It is smooth, a little too shallow to be comfortable for long, extruded from the wall. He starts singing mournfully.

He doesn't actually know any prison songs, or if he does, they've all fled his mind. So what he does is sing "The Naughty Hedgelizard" in a minor key, with a lot of drawn-out vowels.

Han is in a provincial penal installation awaiting transfer and sentencing. He's unhappy, to say the least, about this turn of events.

Everything was going _so well_ , absolutely beautifully, the way things never, ever go, not for the likes of him. Right up until the moment they _weren't_.

There he was, free and clear and flying high with a hold stuffed full of discount Tsuam vines on the way to a guy three hyperlanes away who was willing to pay .057%/kilo above market rates if Han got the stuff to him without any attention from customs clerks.

As if Han _ever_ wanted that kind of attention. He was, however, far from averse to charging even more than usual. Just to reassure the client, that is.

Nothing went wrong, not until he was in the second hyperlane, about to exit. He'd kicked back, put his feet up on the control panel; he was already totaling up just how sweet his take was going to be. That was when the security corvette - out of nowhere! - hailed him.

He kept going, so it fired a disabling dart that froze his engines to _hell_ , thanks very much. If they'd just asked nicely, maybe he would have stopped and answered their questions! (Probably not, but now they'd never know, would they?)

What he can't figure out is how they knew to find him in that lane. He was taking a fairly circuitous route to his merchant contact. The route was a little of his own personal preference mixed with a good dollop of professional caution. He loves that side lane, the one that runs back of better-travelled ones. It's rocky, sure, but he usually has it all to himself.

The fission lock groans and the door slides open.

As he steps inside, Lando hitches one shoulder to fix the hang of his cape. They shoved Han in here, bellowing and stumbling, but Lando - Lando! - all but glides in.

"YOU!" Han shouts, standing, advancing on Lando. He doesn't know what he's going to do when he gets all the way there. He'll figure that out when he gets there.

"I," Lando replies, serenely, maybe even amusedly. "How delightful."

"The hell are you doing here?"

Lando glances over his shoulder. "I seem to be under arrest. You?"

Han shoves him. "It was you, wasn't it?"

Lando steps aside from another shove and tilts his head. "It was I, what?"

"My back lane!" Han's face is burning, his fists are balled and bouncing against his legs. "You tipped them off."

"Did I?"

This close, he can smell Lando's rich cologne, see the small gleam of sweat along his mustache, watch his bright, depthless eyes move across Han's face.

Han punches him. It feels good, it's a good hit, solid contact, pain shooting right up his arm from his knuckles. Lando staggers back, just two steps, before he rights himself. He rubs his jaw and, as if he's trying not to smile, asks, "Feel better?"

Han raises his fist again, but Lando simply blinks. 

"Not yet, no," Han says.

"Ah," Lando says. "Unfortunate."

Han shoves him again. The fabric of Lando's cape is unfamiliar, heavily embroidered, very soft. "Unfortunate? I'll tell you what's unfortunate! Cop dart in my main engines, going to take credits I can only dream about to remove and fix..."

Lando purses his lips. "That _is_ too bad."

"Credits I don't have!"

"What about all the Tsuam vine you stole out from under me?" As Lando settles down on the bench, his cape drifts around him. He crosses his legs. He's wearing new boots, _nice_ ones, lavender Kybuck-hide, perfectly fitted to his long, slender legs.

"I haven't stolen shit from you." Not for a while, anyway. Not that Lando can trace, Han is fairly sure.

"You stole seven pallets' worth."

"That vine was mine, and mine alone, Lando! _I_ set up the deal, _I_ found the vineyard, _I_ got it all together. What did you do?"

He runs his cupped palm lightly over his shining hair. "I negotiated with the port and found the buyer, as I recall. I believe, further, that _I_ introduced you to the vineyard."

"You've introduced me to a lot of people!"

"I have," Lando says, "to my deep regret, yes."

Han kicks him, but fails to leave any kind of mark on his beautiful new boots. "What's that supposed to mean? You ashamed of me?"

Lando shifts aside, recrossing his legs. "Ashamed?"

"Too good for me now, that's it? Fuck you!"

Lando looks up at him through his thick lashes. There's that infuriating smile again, a ghost of amusement and something more, something judgmental, that flickers and hides. " _Now?_ "

Han's anger winks out, just like that, goes from red-hot and immobilizing to dusky ash, cold, sifting through his hollow body. He opens his mouth, then closes it, unlocks his fingers from their curl and shakes out the numbness.

"You can be a real bastard, you know that?" Sitting down next to Lando, he slumps against the wall and exhales.

"I don't, as a rule, tend to double-cross my partners, however," Lando observes. They're talking so quietly, they could be anywhere, somewhere civilized. Like that place on Naboo they hid out in for a month, where there were six meals a day and garden tours, mazes built out of living vegetation, swimming pools that smelled like flowers and were as warm as blood.

Han _hated_ it there.

"Nah, you just wreak revenge on them that's worse than any double-cross could have possibly been," Han says, sweeping one hand to indicate the holding pen.

Lando's dimple winks into view. "This is my doing?"

"It ain't mine!"

"But you _were_ the one smuggling unregulated Tsuam vine through six different sectors."

Han points at the listening-globe, prominent at the center of the ceiling. "I don't know what you're talking about, I haven't even been sentenced with anything, let alone such an abominable act."

"Ah, of course," Lando says, and as he turns to look at Han, he's smiling for real. "You sneaky little punk."

"I'm no punk!" Han protests. Lando has called them that since they first met, when, merely by _chance_ , a trick of the calendar that meant he was eight months older, Lando still had a good several centimeters on Han and a much better false identi-chip.

"But you _are_ sneaky." Lando's hand drifts out from under his cape to slide up and down Han's thigh. He plucks away some lint, frowning, then returns to rubbing Han through the rough, cheap fabric of his trousers.

"Well, yeah," Han says, frowning. Has that ever been in question?

Lando laughs, low in his throat, and though Han _hates_ being laughed at, this is different. This is warm and private, this is Lando enjoying himself, this is Lando chiding him gently and waiting for Han to catch up. To make things even clearer, Lando squeezes Han's leg, very high up, so close to his fly that his knuckles brush Han's dick.

Han has been half-hard, maybe further along than that, since the first hit. Lando has that effect on him, always has; he is infuriating and arousing, always managing to leave Han off-balance and uncertain.

"... _oh_ ," Han finishes. He glances up at the globe again. "But..."

"How many of those are supervised, really? Realistically?" Lando's mouth is on Han's ear, liquid voice and slick tongue and hot breath.

"Not many, probably."

"No." Lando cups Han outright, spreads his fingers and applies just enough pressure to loosen a grunt from Han's rapidly-drying mouth. "And if anyone _is_ watching, don't you think they ought to enjoy themselves?"

"Sure," Han says when he can catch a breath. "Of course."

Sometimes, _still_ , he can feel like a stupid rube kid around Lando. That being watched wouldn't bother Lando, that he can just take the prospect in stride: now _that_ is cool. Sophisticated. That is Lando.

It pisses Han off, frankly. 

"C'mere," Han says, hears how rough and tattered his voice sounds. He tries not to care as he grabs at Lando's cape and hauls him forward into a kiss that's more bite and snarl than anything else. 

But Lando gives as good as he gets, shoving Han back against the wall, pinning him there as he moves around, straddles one of Han's legs, kisses him even harder. Han's got his fists in Lando's perfect hair, pulling it awry until it's the soft, wooly cloud Han first felt, twisting and turning Lando's face to his own whims, sliding his mouth over the mustache, sharp handsome cheekbones, back to Lando's wide, mobile lips. Lando's arm goes around Han's waist, gathers him close, as he fucks his tongue against Han's own.

"What'm I going to _do_ with you?" Lando murmurs, yanking open Han's fly. He takes out Han's cock, squeezing gently, smiling to himself for half a second before continuing. "Running out on me while I was passed out? Taking the whole damn shipment? Did you really think you'd get away with this?"

"No idea what you're talking about," Han gasps, pushing up into Lando's hand, wishing like hell for a firmer grip, for a real pull in amidst all these gentle, teasing brushes of knuckle and smooth palm. "Come _on_ , do it --"

Lando leans back, eyebrow going up, hand leaving Han's dick entirely. "Do what?"

Han swallows and, rather than replying - he was perfectly clear, fuck Lando anyway - paws at Lando's own fly. At least he's hard. That much is obvious, his breeches so tight that if Han squinted, he could probably make out the twining of veins down Lando's shaft.

He knows their route with his fingertips as well as his tongue. Lando's gaze flickers downward, then back to Han's mouth.

Han shoves him - hard enough to make a point, nowhere near enough to dislodge him or anything ridiculous like that - and shakes his head. He grabs for Lando's dick, finds it hot and smooth, the head already wet. "You want this, you _apologize_."

Lando rolls his shoulders back so the cape lifts and flutters. "I'm not sorry, why should I apologize?"

"Ashamed of me, first of all," Han says, "and, second. Second --"

He loses that thought as Lando lifts one leg and resettles, brings their groins together and rocks his hips just right, dragging his cock along the underside of Han's, back and forth, until Han's neither thinking, nor breathing well, nor, really, seeing much beyond Lando's stupid perfect face, his slick lips and laughing eyes.

"Second?" Lando whispers against Han's mouth. He drops his hand between them, taking their dicks together, jacking them in a slow, luxurious rhythm. "What was second?"

"Fuck," Han mutters, grabs what he can reach - Lando's ass, round and tight and pushing, now, back into his touch. " _Fuck._ "

"I want to fuck your mouth," Lando says as their kiss smears away. "I want to turn you over and fuck your ass until you're singing for me."

"Fuck you," Han says, slaps Lando's ass and bites the side of his neck. "Why do you always get what you want?"

"Because -" Lando folds his forearm against Han's throat and thrusts alongside his cock. Han wheezes in a breath, and Lando presses harder. "It's what you want, too. Always is."

Han's dick is jumping, pre-come welling and running fast; he can smell himself (dirty, stale cockpit air and unlaundered trousers) and Lando (opulent, clean, _cultured_ ). His nostrils flare, he gasps for air. 

Lando lifts up, shimmies, gets his breeches down far enough that, as he gets back on Han's lap, Han can grab his bare ass, dig fingers into his crack, moan for more as Lando presses down on his windpipe and jerks his cock in alternating rhythms. Staccato, throat-then-dick, roll of hips to take more from behind, and every so often, a twist of the wrist, pumping the head of Han's cock until he gets close, and then Lando backs off, concentrates on his ass, on Han's throat.

"Please," Han whispers, but it's not actually the word, it's the thought of the word, a hope for release, the essence of a plea.

Lando looks glorious like this, riding Han's lap, cape rippling behind him, hair standing out and eyes alight. "You always come back, don't you?"

Han can't answer. His skin is gone, he's a bundle of nerves and empty, agonizing lungs, a swollen cock and desperate grip on the galaxy's finest ass. He doesn't deserve any of this, not even a second glance from a man as handsome and intelligent and _ambitious_ as Lando, let alone this, let alone the sudden soft, lush kisses Lando is sucking up out of his mouth, the long, knowing pulls on his dick, and the careful slow seeping of air back through him.

He has to be careful, he's so far gone, if Lando _notices_ , he'll own Han forever.

He can't be careful, he can't be anything but hungry for more, desperate for it, reckless.

Then the air stops, the kiss roughens, his dick jumps and shoots, and Lando's fucking against Han's belly, into Han's come, moaning into their kiss, every bit as needful as Han himself. 

Han arches away from the wall, tumbles forward, and lands on top of Lando, kissing him hard, rolling with him through the shock of the fall. The far wall stops them, Lando on top and his cape twisted around them like a shroud.

They're laughing, wheezing, kissing.

"You _are_ sorry," Han says, surprised, kissing the arch of Lando's left brow. "I can tell."

"Not on your life," Lando replies, wiping his hand down the front of Han's shirt.

"So how're we getting out of here, then?"

"Hell if I know," Lando says, and pushes his face into the curve of Han's shoulder as laughter takes him over again.

They'll figure it out, somehow, now that they're back together.


End file.
